Manoeuvres and Ministrations
by Sara Pellow
Summary: Mary and Matthew take a platonic walk. Well, that's what they tell themselves. Set in S2.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note:_

_Seems I might not be a one-hit wonder after all. I hope my second foray into fanfic makes up in some small way for the absence of the much-anticipated trailer for DA2. Numerous inspirations - other fanfic, spec, press packs, media - and complete disregard for facts about marriage licences, Gretna Green, corsets and just about everything else. I hope you enjoy! Oh, and all the usual copyright disclaimers._

In the urgency of all the manoeuvring, revelations and secret deal-making of the past month, Mary and Matthew had not had an opportunity to speak privately about all that had happened. Sir Richard and Lavinia were out of their lives now, each for different but somehow related reasons.

To avert disaster they had had to reveal to each other so much that was mortifying and deeply personal that neither expected the other to consider there was any viable path to love for the two of them. They had always communicated best when they thought romance was out of the question; their friendship during the war was evidence of that. It didn't mean their attraction or love had in any way dimmed, it was just more effectively repressed. So it was that they were most able to be honest with each other when they were lying to themselves. And besides, now they knew every possible secret about each other, what was the point of not speaking plainly.

That is how they found themselves walking the grounds of the Abbey on an unseasonably warm late autumn day, speaking not so much about the facts but how it had affected them. There was no rancour, they were both too exhausted.

They had been silent for a time when Matthew said: "Why didn't you tell me?"

Mary stopped and they faced each other, a couple of feet apart; close, but not too close.

"You know me Matthew, I'm selfish. And a coward. I couldn't bear to see the hurt and disappointment in your eyes. By trying to avoid being shamed by the one person whose opinions I truly cared about, I broke your heart." Tears pooled in her eyes ('Good god,' she thought to herself, 'why can't I stop these tears even now?'). As she looked down she said, softly, "And my own."

After what seemed like an interminable pause and a deep sigh, Matthew spoke.

"Mary, every time I think I know your character you surprise me yet again. I thought if I could rely on any of your vices it was selfishness."

One look at him revealed that this was said not in condemnation but with great warmth and a hint of the playful affection of years past.

"And I don't think Athena herself would dare accuse you of cowardice."

As they looked deep into each other's eyes, Matthew's expression became more sober.

"I think you're too harsh on yourself. I was a proud and disagreeable man that day, and a fool. And I have been for many days – years – since."

"I think we can both claim our share of pride _and_ prejudice, don't you?" Mary said.

By now both of their hearts were racing. This was territory they hadn't planned on exploring. Mary tried to move the conversation along a safer path.

"….You know, my sister even described me as Darcy in a dress."

"Ha! Edith?" Matthew's relief at the lighter turn in the conversation meant his exclamation was a little louder than he intended.

"No, Sybil!"

Matthew smiled. "Ah, now I know who sent me that copy while I was at the front. I caught no end of mocking from the men…..You know, I wouldn't have cast Sybil as an Austen acolyte."

"Really? You don't think her passionate idealism reveals the heart of a true romantic?", the last word catching in Mary's throat.

They fell silent, perhaps at the mention of passion and romance or simply the weight of their togetherness and this moment.

Matthew moved closer to Mary, his thumb lightly brushing the tears still lingering on her cheek and drawing her chin up to him. Still cradling her face he gently kissed away the tears on her other cheek. Her eyes closed and a sough that spoke of exquisite relief and desire escaped Mary's throat as Matthew's kisses slowly traced a line to her shoulder as his hand caressed her neck. She leaned into his hand, exposing her neck and inviting more of Matthew's ministrations.

"Marry me."

[_Author's note: I'm no tease. Chapter 2 is just one click away ;) _]


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lost in reverie, Matthew wasn't quite sure what he'd heard. When it dawned on him he paused mid-kiss and looked up. His response was one of genuine surprise and (mock) outrage.

"Mary, it's not even a leap year!"

In truth Mary had been so enthralled she was barely aware she'd said anything at all. But she recovered sufficiently to return his volley.

"What do you mean, don't you support women's suffrage? Anyway, you proposed once, I thought it was my turn," she teased.

Still stroking her neck, and with eyes twinkling in the way that never failed to steal her breath, he said: "As you well know, I'm all for women getting the vote, but it's a sad day indeed when a man can't ask the woman he loves to marry him. Will you be asking my mother's permission I wonder?

"What a grand idea! Shall we go right now?" Mary replied brightly and made to move off in the direction of the village.

"Not a chance."

With that Matthew drew Mary into an embrace that was both passionate _and_ romantic. The kiss lit a fire in each that neither had experienced before, not even in the delight of that first encounter all those years ago. Mary draped her arms around Matthew's neck, fingers dancing slowly through his hair. Matthew's arms completely encircled Mary's waist, drawing her as close as decorum and clothing would allow.

After a time, neither remotely aware of how long, Matthew breathed one simple word against her lips.

"Yes."

So giddy was she that Mary couldn't for the life of her work out what he was saying yes to.

"Yes what?" she said dreamily.

"Yes I'll marry you."

After a brief pause as her senses returned to her, she looked into his eyes and replied.

"Oh Matthew," she said with a provocative smirk, her voice low, "it wasn't a question, it was a command."

Another kiss. Each time their lips met their passion burned brighter. Matthew's hands moved slightly lower, drawing Mary's hips even nearer to his. Mary relaxed into his embrace, her hips tilting forward she leaned back, her fingers deep in Matthew's hair, pulling him closer.

As the fire threatened to consume not just them but the grounds and the Abbey itself, Matthew pulled away with an audible groan. He tried to relieve the moment of some of its heat with an attempt at dispassionate conversation. He failed miserably. With his forehead to Mary's, both still flushed and breathless, he said: "With all this talk of suffragettes, I have to confess that on occasion I mourn the loss to fashion of corsets."

Without missing a beat, and now thoroughly emboldened, Mary replied. "Then you mustn't know how long they take to remove," and she kissed him, deeply but ever so briefly, leaving him quite dizzy with desire. "And in any case, they're still worn on formal occasions."

Matthew gave up all pretence to propriety; their's was a passion that could not be quenched or denied. As he discovered her neck once more with his lips, he murmured: "I would very much like to see one in a much more _in_formal setting." With a small moan and a sense of great urgency Mary brought his face to hers. More kissing, and then: "When?"

Now it was Matthew's turn to be confused, and more than a little tantalised by what he thought she was asking.

"When what?" he asked, as Mary began placing deep, languid kisses along his neck while her fingers traced the contours of his ear with feather light touches.

"When can we marry?" she replied, her breath hot against his skin.

Under this barrage of sensation Matthew stuggled to form coherent thought. He was in no doubt that Mary meant 'how soon can we marry' and he was trying desperately to calculate the time to apply for a licence, what favours he could call in to speed things along, and if all else failed, how quickly they could get to Scotland. He was so distracted that he hadn't noticed that while Mary's lips, and now occasionally her teeth, were still paying his neck the most dedicated of attentions, one of her hands had found its way under his jacket and beneath his waistcoat. He didn't notice, that was, until she lightly grazed her fingernails along his abdomen, with just the cotton of his shirt separating them. A current of electricity ripped through his body, having the unexpected effect of forming a reply to Mary's question. His answer came in one word, expressed almost in a yelp.

"Christmas!" he cried.


End file.
